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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368765">Someone who wants to be hurt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulkybender/pseuds/sulkybender'>sulkybender</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, Father/Son Incest, Firelord Zuko (Avatar), Gay Zuko (Avatar), Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Sokka (Avatar), Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Sexual Assault, Starvation, Zuko (Avatar) Angst, Zuko (Avatar)-centric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:15:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulkybender/pseuds/sulkybender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're mine, aren't you?"</p><p>He always was. </p><p>--<br/>Some part of Zuko still believes his father could care about him.</p><p>He is not correct. </p><p>Zuko goes through hell. Sokka is on the trail.</p><p>Come get y'all juice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ozai &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Ozai/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka &amp; Suki (Avatar), Sokka &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Suki &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Suki/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>283</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been wanting to write Ozai/Zuko for a while, but thought you guys might, like me, appreciate an Ozai/Zuko fic where Zuko isn't a child because that's a boundary-line for me.</p><p>That said: still an Ozai/Zuko fic, so what boundaries, right?</p><p>Takes place after Zuko assumes the throne. As the comics point out, Zuko still craves his father's approval and guidance on some level.</p><p>That makes him vulnerable.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">It was inevitable, wasn't it? Too many people who didn't know him doubting his intentions; too many people who did know himmisunderstanding the demands of his position, the messy politics and the night sweats. And so, only months after wheeling out of his father's cell in anger, Zuko was back, subdued, penitent.</p><p class="p1">“That took long enough.”</p><p class="p1">“Father,” Zuko acknowledged.</p><p class="p1">Ozai was sitting with crossed legs in the corner of the cell closest to the sharp block of light from the barred window. He looked thinner than Zuko remembered, more muted, his beard running down his face. But he still seemed strong, and the gold in his eyes burned so intensely it was easy to doubt that his bending had ever truly been taken from him.</p><p class="p1">“Tell me,” Ozai said.</p><p class="p1">And he did. He told Ozai about his squabbles with the Earth Kingdom, the mistrustful ambassadors, the regent extracting favors from everyone who passed through Qingdao, the council members who would never respect him. And then, surprisingly, seeing the understanding in his father's face—when had his expression gotten so soft?—he talked about the pains in his heart, the lopsided gallop that might have been left over from being electrocuted by Azula but might have been the terrors of responsibility, the fear of messing up, the anxiety that told him everyone in his life who had so tentatively begun to love him could just... stop. Mai had.</p><p class="p1">They were sitting beside each other in the cell, and when he had finished speaking Ozai took his hand. Zuko winced, but it wasn't the violent gesture he had been expecting. His father's hand was warm, almost protective, and Ozai told him that he could return any time, that he would always be sitting here with open ears and an open heart.</p><p class="p1">It had to be a lie.</p><p class="p1">It didn't feel like one.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The next time Zuko visits his father, Ozai listens just as carefully as he had before, and offers his advice. It is surprisingly sensible. Zuko turns it over in his mind again and again that night, feeling out flaws and traps, and he wakes up exhausted in the morning, having found nothing at all.</p><p class="p1">They sit closer together. Zuko wouldn't have noticed it, except suddenly his father is gently rubbing his arm, the way you try to warm someone who's freezing to death, and he thinks his heart will stop. He really does. When he rises to leave, Ozai draws him into half a hug, one arm tugging him close—he can smell his father's familiar scent, still stamped so strongly beneath the standard-issue prison soap—and Ozai murmurs something in his ear, something he can’t make out because his heart was pounding so badly.</p><p class="p1">He could kill you at any time. And: he maybe loves you?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sokka had been staying at the palace for months now. Officially he was meant to be negotiating with the Earth Kingdom over trading access to a port south of Omashu; unofficially he was so fucking tired of it all, the lying behind polite smiles and the weaselly words and the meetings that seemed to repeat themselves every day, but longer. He was tired and increasingly he had been spending most of his time practicing with his sword in the courtyard, or darting upstairs to bug Zuko about his misplaced priorities and treaty obligations.</p><p class="p1">Lately Zuko had been looking even paler than usual, his face the color of snow. He was always half-slumped over, muttering to himself and making poor eye contact. (Again: a comparative thing.)</p><p class="p1">He knows he should be doing something to help, but somehow Sokka has always expressed his love through relentlessly irritating people, and after Zuko starts locking his room Sokka stops knocking, and then weeks go by and Sokka doesn't see him at all.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He's confused and he hates the way he feels when he visits Ozai, those golden eyes considering him with something like mercy. But the confusion is part of what drives him is. If he could just <em>understand</em>.</p><p class="p1">His father has been giving him increasingly detailed advice—formulating policy, really—and touching his hands, his arms, resting on his thigh. There isn't a barrier between them anymore, or if there is, it's as thin as the boundary between the two sides of a mirror.</p><p class="p1">You're getting fat, you know, Ozai says one day. His fingers curl under Zuko's chin, pinching. You need to stay disciplined.</p><p class="p1">Zuko flushes. Is he? He didn't think he was, but could he really see himself anymore? He begins skipping meals, and when he can't and the hunger gnaws at him, he begins throwing up. At night his throat burns no matter how much water he drinks. He lies awake in bed and thinks about his dumb, broken body.</p><p class="p1">Underneath it all Zuko feels the hum of satisfaction. His father is listening to him, reckoning with him, recognizing him. He feels cared for.</p><p class="p1">Used, but cared for.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">What Sokka notices first, when he sees Zuko again, are his eyes. They seem enormous, suddenly, like they take up most of his face, and it takes Sokka too long to realize this was because Zuko is very small now.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“He looks like he's dying.”</p><p class="p1">Suki is in the middle of a conversation, which she stops apologetically with a wave of her hand, pulling him into a quiet corner.</p><p class="p1">“Nice to see you too, Sokka.”</p><p class="p1">“I mean—yeah, yeah, niceties etc, but Suks... He looks terrible.”</p><p class="p1">She sighs.</p><p class="p1">“Is he sick?”</p><p class="p1">“I don't know. I think it's the assassination attempts.”</p><p class="p1">“The assass—?” Sokka can’t finish the word with his jaw dropped.</p><p class="p1">“He hasn't really been sleeping.”</p><p class="p1">“Can we step back? People are trying to assassinate him? What the fuck, Suki!”</p><p class="p1">Suki crosses her arms.</p><p class="p1">“In case you haven't noticed, they haven't.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t want to criticize your professionalism, but can't you be, I don't know, faster? Or earlier? The whole ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure thing?”</p><p class="p1">“If you're so into preventing things, why don't you try it? You know, instead of loafing around the palace complaining about how I do my job?” Her face softens. “I'm <em>trying</em>, Sokka.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ozai's hands slip under his robe, brushing the smooth skin of his chest. Zuko breathes in sharply.</p><p class="p1">“You're my boy, aren't you?”</p><p class="p1">He massages Zuko's chest, the movements almost hypnotic, gliding until he reaches his son's back and pushes him gently towards him.</p><p class="p1">“You're my boy, Ozai murmurs.” Then his mouth is on Zuko's, blazing hot.</p><p class="p1"><em>He’s bending</em>, is Zuko’s first thought. But the flutter of panic and heat in him, the feeling of tumbling downhill—none of that is bending.</p><p class="p1">“Let's get you undressed,” he says, and Zuko nods stiffly, sliding out of his robes. Ozai presses him against the wall, working deep into his mouth and trailing wet kisses down his neck. It feels like someone is cramming Zuko’s heart down his throat.</p><p class="p1">“Look at you,” he whispers, the words sounding loving before his mouth twists. “You fucking pig.” His hands splay on Zuko's chest, gently circling his nipples. “I’m the only one who would ever want you.”</p><p class="p1">Zuko whimpers. It’s horrible and it’s wonderful, just to be touched at all. He knows Ozai is right. He's scarred and twisted, broken-bodied, broken-faced. There's a reason he doesn't keep a mirror in his chambers. There's a reason he dresses in the dark.</p><p class="p1">Ozai is the only one who's ever seen him for what he is, and told him as much</p><p class="p1">From then on it's ordinary, a routine. He walks into the cell and drops his robes, like he's letting the outer world fall away.</p><p class="p1">Ozai pins him against the wall, his erection nudging into his hip. Ozai sucks on his nipples. He bites on the soft skin of his wrists until he draws blood. He tells him to drop weight and he does, scheduling meetings over breakfast, pushing the meat around his plate until dinner ends. He tells him to burn himself when he goes back to his chambers and he does, leaving long secret marks that Ozai will delight over later, tracing the boiling skin like a present.</p><p class="p1">“You're mine, aren't you?”</p><p class="p1">He always was.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It's obvious by now that Zuko isn't sleeping. He trembles at council meetings. Eventually he stops going. He's an embarrassment.</p><p class="p1">“I'll watch you, if you want to be watched.”</p><p class="p1">Zuko looks at Sokka dully.</p><p class="p1">"I mean, while you sleep. I mean—" Sokka curses inwardly—"I mean I can guard you. Would you want that?"</p><p class="p1">Zuko's so thin, and he moves like something hurts, like there are hidden places on his body that are quietly all the time on fire. Sokka looks at him and just wants to hold him, because words keep failing him, brutally.</p><p class="p1">Sokka promises to listen, starts giving practical advice without judgment. How to reroute a river so two territories can share it. How to settle grain disputes. He teaches Zuko about aqueducts. It's too late for any of this. It's too late for aqueducts. There's something terribly wrong with Zuko.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Zuko keeps thinking about his father. How could he not? These have been the most intense moments of his life, chained together—these sweeping lurches between pain and consolation. He spends his days cold and distracted. He’s lost the trick of listening, somehow.</p><p class="p1">When he enters the cell this time, Ozai doesn’t wait for him to disrobe; he yanks his robe up, throws him against the wall, and forces in. Zuko feels like fruit splitting open, after a long fall. Cooling blood spills down his legs, his father grunting hot, sour breath in his ear. When he comes, it’s raw flesh he’s stinging. The open fruit.</p><p class="p1">His whole body is one long sting. No thoughts at all.</p><p class="p1">Then Ozai is kissing his face very delicately, drawing him into his lap. Zuko falls into the shelter of his hair. His father is saying something soft and gentle, but his heart is still hammering too violently to make out any words at all.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He tricks Zuko into thinking he's attending a scheduled meeting in Water Tribe autonomy. When he shows up and the room is empty, he convinces Zuko to take a walk with him. It is worryingly easy to do.</p><p class="p1">They head to a secluded wood, part of the royal family's own preserve, and Sokka leads him to the hot springs. He strips down casually, sliding into the water with a whistle of delight. “C’mon in!” he yells, and looks up to see Zuko is utterly horrified.</p><p class="p1">“Oh fuck. Hey. Hey, buddy.”</p><p class="p1">Sokka climbs out of the water and places a hand on his shoulder, very carefully. He looks so breakable. He'll break, won't he?</p><p class="p1">“Whatever it is, I won't say anything.” The words came out abruptly. “I'll keep my dumb mouth shut and won't say anything, okay?”</p><p class="p1">Zuko slides his robes off. It seems to happen very slowly: the trail of broken skin, the blood-red scabs, the white-fleshed burns where the skin's been lost too deep to heal. The robes are crumpled at his feet, his bare feet looking so white and vulnerable, and Sokka can't breathe. He wants to draw Zuko into his arms, hold him as tightly as he can without destroying him. But when he reaches out a tentative hand, Zuko brushes him away. He slips into the water.</p><p class="p1">Sokka is a terrible friend.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“He's really hurt, Suks. He's covered in scars.”</p><p class="p1">“How did—who would—“</p><p class="p1">“He did, I think.”</p><p class="p1">“But why?”</p><p class="p1">“I don't get it either.” Sokka frowns.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sokka starts following Zuko, discretely. There are pockets in his schedule no one can account for.</p><p class="p1">At first Sokka doesn't know what he's looking for. Then he doesn't know what he's seeing. The cell is dark, wisps of light creeping in from the window, and it sounds like someone is being shoved. He tenses, his hand settling on his dagger's hilt, and as he gets closer he sees it's Zuko being shoved. He's small and utterly naked, and Ozai is slamming him into the wall, over and over again, and Zuko does absolutely nothing about this. There is a slapping sound that's terribly familiar, the noise of someone <em>thrusting</em>.</p><p class="p1">Ozai forces Zuko all fours, driving into him, and Zuko folds a little every time he does, his scrawny arms barely supporting him. He's saying something to Zuko, in his vile little voice, and Sokka doesn’t want to see any more of this but he inches closer, almost hypnotized, hoping that if he could make out the words things would start to make sense.</p><p class="p1">Abruptly Ozai looks up.</p><p class="p1">His eyes meet Sokka's.</p><p class="p1">Ozai smiles.</p><p class="p1">Sokka creeps out, barely breathing, and when he hits the spiral staircase he starts sucking in air. What on <em>earth</em>. What the <em>hell. </em>How did this happen? Is this something Zuko wants? He needs to ask and knows he can’t. There’s no one to tell.</p><p class="p1">He has a feeling like when his leg snapped, on the day of the comet, but it’s a bone somewhere in his soul.</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It isn’t hard to get into Zuko’s chambers. Sokka shows his guards a scroll—Zuko’s scrawl is easy to imitate, and Sokka barely needs to suggest language at all. As for the seal, Sokka swiped one of those from Zuko’s desk months ago, just for the hell of it.</p><p class="p1">When he’s bored, Sokka gets slightly kleptomaniac. It isn’t one of his best qualities.</p><p class="p1">Inside the curtains are closely drawn, the room impossibly dark. There’s a balcony where Zuko likes to sit in the morning, sitting with his papers and a cup of tea. It’s sealed off.</p><p class="p1">At first Sokka thinks the room is empty. The massive, well-appointed bed is vacant. He hasn’t seen Zuko for days; it isn’t so impossible, the idea that he’s gone off on a trip, palace business or otherwise, and hasn’t bothered to tell Sokka, who isn’t exactly close council these days. Then he sees a lump on the floor.</p><p class="p1">“Zuko?”</p><p class="p1">He’s curled up in the shadow of the bed, face buried in his arm, breathing shallowly like he’s snapped a rib. When Sokka says his name again, he turns his face towards him and it’s like being pummeled. Sokka can’t breathe.</p><p class="p1">His face is white and angled, crusted with blood and something Sokka doesn’t want to think about. There’s a stain on his cheek, wine-dark. A fresh bruise.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Zuko</em>.”</p><p class="p1">He doesn’t answer.</p><p class="p1">Sokka picks him up very carefully. He’s light, like the ghost of a bird, and as Sokka carries him to the bath, he has to keep his head supported. He opens the tap and holds Zuko while he waits for steam to rise from the water.</p><p class="p1">“Hey buddy,” Sokka whispers. “We’re just gonna get you cleaned up, okay?”</p><p class="p1">He eases off Zuko’s robes. Underneath he’s just bones and shadows, long burns down his arms like failing comets. There’s more filth from Ozai, and his backside is badly abused, probably infected. Sokka swears under his breath.</p><p class="p1">“What happened, buddy?” he asks quietly.</p><p class="p1">Zuko’s eyes are screwed shut.</p><p class="p1">He lowers Zuko into the water, letting the dirt float away, working soap gently into his matted hair. Zuko must know something about what’s going on, because he’s crying silently, with an expression on his face that Sokka recognizes as shame.</p><p class="p1">“Hey, it’s okay.” Sokka wraps his hand around Zuko’s, trying not to think too much about how easy it is to swallow him up.</p><p class="p1">“It happens,” Sokka says, stupidly.</p><p class="p1">Of course it doesn't happen. It should never happen. This is the kind of shit that only happens in broken families, with children who escape monsters but never stop seeing the monster in themselves.</p><p class="p1">When his hair is clean and freshly combed, Sokka begins to wash his wounds, trying his best to clean the burns while keeping them largely out of the water. He’s knobbed with bruises that Sokka keeps brushing against, despite his best intentions, despite moving as slowly and gently as he can. The whole process seems to take up forever. Zuko is breathing in little hisses, squeezing his hand.</p><p class="p1">“I’m so sorry,” Sokka says.</p><p class="p1">He doesn’t have any salves or ointments. The best he can do is feel for broken bones—he’s still unsure about that rib, the bruising that spreads from it like blood in the water—and when he’s finished all he can do is lift Zuko from the bath and pat him dry with an enormous towel. He does it so delicately but still skin comes off in his hands. Sokka finds the softest robe he can find and dresses him, like a person-sized doll.</p><p class="p1">He lifts Zuko into bed and watches him shivering.</p><p class="p1">“Oh hell.”</p><p class="p1">Zuko thrashes weakly when Sokka climbs in beside him. “It’s Sokka,” he tells the Fire Lord, over and over until something registers. Zuko goes slack. Sokka gathers him against his chest, rubbing his cold hands. He's sorry he was selfish. He's sorry he was so bored with the machinery of government that he couldn't see the government himself was dying.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Purgatory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As promised! I had initially been thinking of this as a two-parter, but the enthusiasm is really and so this will be at least three chapters. </p><p>I was derailed by work insanity but had planned to polish and post on Monday. Here it is now, hopefully catharsis for the, um, complete dismantling of America.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">When Zuko falls asleep, Sokka goes outside and calls for the guards. He lies through his teeth. He tells them he's here to treat an illness that’s common in the Water Tribe. The palace physicians would know nothing about it, he says, almost apologetically. He asks them to bring salve and bandages.</p><p class="p1">If anyone asks, he'll tell them it's weeping boils. Very rare. Very painful.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He tries soup, but Zuko stares at him with dead eyes, spoon limp in his hands, like he doesn't know what soup is or what a bowl is for.</p><p class="p1">“All right, buddy.”</p><p class="p1">Sokka wheels the spoon into his mouth and Zuko swallows, reluctantly. It takes Sokka too long to get it. It isn't that he's delirious or dazed—or it isn’t <em>just</em> that he’s delirious or dazed. He doesn't want to eat. </p><p class="p1">He waves a hand in front of Zuko’s face, which barely registers.</p><p class="p1">“Hey, Zuko. Is it the, uh, attempts? Did someone—did someone try to poison you?”</p><p class="p1">That isn't it. Zuko closes his eyes and rolls away. Sokka clears the tray and climbs in next to him, sweeping the covers overhead so it’s almost like a tent. A smaller space, maybe an easier one.</p><p class="p1">“It's just you and me, okay?” Sokka says. "No one's going to hurt you here.”</p><p class="p1">Zuko doesn't say anything, but his breath catches. Sokka's hand settles on his waist.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He asks Suki to meet him outside the door, at a safe distance from the other guards. Still he squints at them nervously throughout the conversation. This is why Sokka would not be very good at crime.</p><p class="p1">“I know things that I think I shouldn’t,” Sokka says. “And I think I can't in good conscience tell you.”</p><p class="p1">To his surprise Suki nods, waits.</p><p class="p1">“So how can I help?” she says.</p><p class="p1">Sokka looks agonized.</p><p class="p1">“Just tell me what you can tell me.”</p><p class="p1">“Someone's been hurting Zuko,” he says, after a long pause. “I took care of that. They can't get to him now. But the problem, I think, is that Zuko is also hurting Zuko. And I can't protect him from that.”</p><p class="p1">Suki takes a slow breath, but seems calm.</p><p class="p1">“Okay.”</p><p class="p1">“Also, I don’t know how to treat major infections.”</p><p class="p1">Suki no longer seems calm.</p><p class="p1">“<em>Sokka</em>. Are you insane? Get a doctor in there.”</p><p class="p1">“Look, I think everyone in this place is poison.” Sokka pauses. “Present company excluded.”</p><p class="p1">“Thanks.”</p><p class="p1">“You know it's true, Suki,” Sokka insists. “We can't bring palace physicians in here. They can’t—they won’t keep their mouths shut. They’re all hold-overs from Ozai.”</p><p class="p1">His throat seals up on the word. He hopes Suki didn’t notice.</p><p class="p1">“I know they train you guys in field medicine,” he goes on. “Can you just try? If we can’t we can’t, but I think it’s a matter of life and death in multiple directions, if that makes sense. There are so many ways to fuck this up, and one of them is bringing in the royal physicians.”</p><p class="p1">Suki nods, but she still looks infuriated.</p><p class="p1">Sokka hopes it’s just the makeup.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Hey Zuko,” she calls softly. “How are you feeling?”</p><p class="p1">Zuko is curled up very small, shaking.</p><p class="p1">“I don't think he knows what's going on,” Sokka says. “He hasn’t been answering questions. Or really responding to things at all.”</p><p class="p1">“And he isn’t running a fever?”</p><p class="p1">“No, he feels cool.” Too cool, Sokka doesn’t say, like there’s nothing in him: no fever, no blood, no emotion.</p><p class="p1">“Did you check him for concussion?”</p><p class="p1">“I don't think the issue is concussion.”</p><p class="p1">Suki settles next to him on the bed, resting her hand on his white shoulder. There are fingermarks, plum-red, seeping through his skin.</p><p class="p1">“He's so thin,” Suki says quietly. “I think he's too starved to think. Get something soft, okay? Ask the kitchen for something he won’t have to chew.”</p><p class="p1">She peels back the covers and nearly drops them.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Sokka</em>.”</p><p class="p1">“I know.”</p><p class="p1">The whole of him is gashes and bruises, furiously jutting bones. There are stretches where he’s stippled with blood, like someone rubbed him against a rock-face over and over. But the worst is his backside, thick with weeping sores. He looks like someone tried to peel him open.</p><p class="p1">Suki doesn’t have words, not really. But her eyes interrogate Sokka’s.</p><p class="p1">“He was in a relationship,” Sokka says, reluctantly, “and it went very bad.”</p><p class="p1">“Is he...? I mean, was he…?”</p><p class="p1">It's the question neither of them can ask. Was he raped? Or did he want this? Does Zuko hate himself enough to want <em>this</em>?</p><p class="p1">“Keep him off his back,” Suki says, like that's the answer either of them wanted. “Keep him on his side or stomach for now. And for God's sake get him fed.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m trying, Suks. He isn't interested.”</p><p class="p1">Sokka can see her making connections in her mind.</p><p class="p1">“Whoever this person was, I think they didn't want him eating.” Her voice is controlled. “I think they were treating him like garbage and they were telling him garbage.” </p><p class="p1">She pulls off her armor and climbs in next to Zuko, who is absolutely freezing in her arms.</p><p class="p1">“Talk to the kitchen, okay? I’ll be here with him.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">When Sokka leaves she lets herself cry a little.</p><p class="p1">It is not possible to guard someone who wants to be hurt.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sokka has been thinking the worst that can happen is that someone will find out. The Fire Lord, being fucked by the previous Fire Lord? The one he deposed? The one who's his <em>father</em>? The New Ozai Society would have a field day with this. The revanchist members of the council would foam at the mouth.It's obvious cause for deposition, grounds for declaring Zuko insane and removing him from power, replacing him with a regent or whatever potbellied half-duke comes next in the line of succession.</p><p class="p1">Of course, the worst that can happen is not this. It is that Zuko will die. He easily could.</p><p class="p1">They bathe him hesitantly, change his poultices, keep his bandages fresh. But there's only so much they can do. They try getting him to eat and they can't, not really. It's like feeding a doll—the congee slides down his mouth like his lips are painted shut. It's not so much that he's resisting, Sokka thinks. It's that he profoundly doesn't care.</p><p class="p1">Suki stays in bed with him, rubbing his bony hands, telling him things Sokka probably isn't supposed to hear. He's precious, she tells him. He's worth saving. He's beautiful and kind. He doesn't need to prove anything to deserve food. She calls him sweetheart.</p><p class="p1">The way she talks is shocking to Sokka. It makes him think that there’s a part of Suki he never sees, a whole person inside who’s been through terror and intimidation.</p><p class="p1">Zuko doesn't seem to be listening—there's no change in his stiff face—but abruptly he's crying. Suki traces warm circles on his back.</p><p class="p1">“It's okay, sweetheart.”</p><p class="p1">They try again and he swallows a little congee, which makes them both unreasonably excited.</p><p class="p1">Later in the night he throws up.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">They take turns sleeping with him. They don't discuss why. He needs to be kept warm, but more than anything it's obvious to them both that he needs to be wrapped up in the kind of touch that won't harm him, to be shown you can be loved without being dismantled.</p><p class="p1">Sokka doesn't sleep, exactly, just runs his hand gently down Zuko's back until his breathing evens out, until he feels every rib in his back, the broken architecture of him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“Sokka?”</p><p class="p1">His voice splinters, fragile. It's been days since Sokka heard it.</p><p class="p1">“Hey buddy.” Sokka tries to sound calm even though his heart is pounding. “How are you feeling?”</p><p class="p1">Zuko curls inward.</p><p class="p1">“I’m so sorry,” he says.</p><p class="p1">“You don't have to be sorry about anything.”</p><p class="p1">He can see the shame radiating from Zuko's face, his whole body stiff with it. He takes his hand and kisses it.</p><p class="p1">“You don't have to be sorry,” he says again. “We love you.”</p><p class="p1">Zuko is crying now, messy crying that he wipes at with his papery little hands until it all feels unmanageable and he gives in, sobbing.</p><p class="p1">“It's okay. You're okay. You're safe now.”</p><p class="p1"><em>But I don't want to be safe</em>, Zuko thinks. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">At night he dreams about his father again. These aren't bad dreams, although he knows they should be. There are fingers in his hair and strong hands on his chest, positioning his hips, telling him exactly what he needs to do, who he needs to be, and when he wakes up it's only Sokka or Suki next to him and he's disappointed. He feels the weight of food in his stomach and he's sick. It's like the last thing tethering him to the earth.</p><p class="p1">He wonders if his father wonders where he's gone. He wonders if his father has ever wondered where he's gone.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">He eats but barely, lost somewhere else. When Suki hands him a soft bun he looks confronted.</p><p class="p1">"We can fix it, okay? Whatever it is. But we can't fix it if you're dead," she says flatly.</p><p class="p1">Suki says: "Please. For me."</p><p class="p1">Suki says: "What's the worst that can happen?"</p><p class="p1">Suki says: "You made it through the Day of the Black Sun and you can't make it through soup?"</p><p class="p1">In the end she crawls up next to him and strokes his hair.</p><p class="p1">If you can feed someone by touching them, he'll be fine.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">On the fourth day Zuko sits up sharply with alarm in his eyes.</p><p class="p1">“Wait. Who's been running the country?”</p><p class="p1">Sokka tries not to laugh.</p><p class="p1">“Vice-Counsel Qin.”</p><p class="p1">Zuko frowns, and his face is so small that the frown consumes it.</p><p class="p1">“What's wrong with Vice-Counsel Qin?”</p><p class="p1">“He's just... he's old,” Zuko says. “He's old and set in his ways.”</p><p class="p1">Sokka rolls his eyes.</p><p class="p1">“Zuko, that's literally the entire council. We were a little limited in our options here.”</p><p class="p1">Zuko abruptly looks terrified.</p><p class="p1">“Does my uncle know?”</p><p class="p1">“He knows as much as your council knows. You're sick and you need a few weeks' rest.”</p><p class="p1">“Sometimes I don't want to go back,” Zuko says quietly.</p><p class="p1">He says this so hesitantly, as if it hasn’t been printed on his face for months.</p><p class="p1">“You don't have to.” Sokka's hand settles on his, thumb running over his sharp knuckles. “Run away. Do something stupid. Act like you're significantly younger than Vice-Counsel Qin. Let someone else be regent while you, you know, grow up.”</p><p class="p1">“I can't. I owe a debt to my people. To my ancestors.”</p><p class="p1">Sokka loses patience.</p><p class="p1">“And what have your ancestors ever done for you, Zuko?” he snaps. “Last I checked they haven't exactly gone around doing you favors.”</p><p class="p1">It's a subtle jab, but not subtle enough. Zuko's eyes lock on his. His breathing stops.</p><p class="p1">He knows Sokka knows.</p><p class="p1">“Sokka.”</p><p class="p1">“Zuko, I'm sorry.”</p><p class="p1">“What did you— how—“</p><p class="p1">“I followed you. I had to, okay? You kept vanishing and you were falling apart and I didn't know what my options were.”</p><p class="p1">“Was Suki—“</p><p class="p1">“She knew I was concerned. She didn't see— She doesn't know.”</p><p class="p1">“She didn't see what.”</p><p class="p1">“Your father raping you.”</p><p class="p1">Zuko looks like he's going to be sick. He rakes his hands through his hair.</p><p class="p1">“That's not what happened.”</p><p class="p1">“Really, Zuko?” Sokka tries to keep the anger from his voice. “Because I'm very sure that's what happened.”</p><p class="p1">“You weren't there,” Zuko protests. “I mean, you were there, but you weren't—you couldn't understand—“</p><p class="p1">“I don't need lessons in interpretation to understand something like that. You shouldn't either.” He lowers his voice to the softest hiss. “You're his <em>son</em> and you were skin and <em>bones</em> and he was <em>forcing his way into you</em>.”</p><p class="p1">“I can't talk to you.”</p><p class="p1">“Fine,” Sokka says, getting up. “That makes two of us.”</p><p class="p1">“You're so fucking arrogant! You can't tell me what I was feeling.”</p><p class="p1">“I can tell you what I was looking at and I wouldn't be wrong.”</p><p class="p1">“You think you're so smart.” Zuko takes in a ragged breath, hands contracting into fists. “You never listen, you just go around being smug and—and spying—“</p><p class="p1">“And it's a good thing I did or you'd be dead.”</p><p class="p1">“It was what I <em>wanted</em>!” Zuko howls. “It was exactly what I wanted! It's the one thing I could ever trust Ozai to do.”</p><p class="p1">Sokka gapes at him.</p><p class="p1">“You're sick.”</p><p class="p1">Zuko shoves him.</p><p class="p1">The door swings open and Suki walks in with a tray of soup.</p><p class="p1">“Uh, guys?”</p><p class="p1">Sokka storms out past her, raging.</p><p class="p1">Zuko is red-faced, his fists smoking mildly.</p><p class="p1">“For fuck’s sake.”</p><p class="p1">Suki puts the tray down and picks up a pillow.</p><p class="p1">“Let’s spar, okay?” she says, no-nonsense. “We know he’s an asshole, fundamentally.”</p><p class="p1">Zuko punches the pillow furiously, the weight of him so negligible that Suki feels like she’s just being flicked again and again. By the time he’s finished, the pillow smells like ash.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sokka doesn't come back.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Heaven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have so loved your support and enthusiasm for this story. Here's the final chapter. Let me know what you think &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Zuko doesn't let himself be touched anymore. He feeds himself grudgingly, with no interest; his wounds heal or don’t heal on their own, and he can feel the lattice of scar tissue tighten, like someone squeezing his throat. He’s listless but angry. At night Suki sits in a chair by his bed and watches him shiver himself to sleep.</p><p class="p1">When she calls him <em>sweetheart</em> he corrects her.</p><p class="p1">“I’m not sweet,” he says.</p><p class="p1">He doesn't say: <em>I don't have a heart</em>.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">When he closes his eyes the images stutter through his head, with the brightness of ghosts. Ozai kissing his throat while one hand grips Zuko's privates and crushes them. The blood he passed the next day.Ozai gently trailing his knuckles along his cheek. Ozai fastening his teeth on his neck the way a cat does, to assert dominance until the thing in its jaws goes slack. Ozai tracing his ribs. Ozai angling his legs apart and shoving in. Ozai pulling blood out of his arms with his long nails. Ozai sucking his nipple with a soft, warm mouth.</p><p class="p1">Stumbling back up the garden path, half-blinded, crushed. Waking up alone in his bed, still thick with the smell of sex.</p><p class="p1">The violence of these memories is more real than anything in his real life.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As for Sokka: he misses the weight of Zuko in bed, fitting his hand into the curve of his waist.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He wants her to ask, but she never does. She is masked over with kindness and discretion. She feeds him congee but what he really wants is for someone to rip him open from the inside.</p><p class="p1">At night the feeling gnaws at him and the images keep him awake, sealed to the inside of his eyes. He wakes up and the room is brutally empty, regal.</p><p class="p1">He doesn't deserve any of this. Someone should take it away.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Zuko is scheming, justifying decisions that are objectively terrible. He convinces Suki to take him down to the gardens at night. He hobbles with her to a bench by the pond, feeling older than all of his counselors combined. They sit together and consider the moon that's fallen in the water.</p><p class="p1">His heart is galloping in his chest. He wants this so badly, and he's so afraid. She doesn't suspect anything.</p><p class="p1">One night he will ask to go down alone, and she will let him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Zuko heads in the direction of the gardens for as long as he can, for as long as he thinks he's in sight of the balcony, and then he veers left, with horrible urgency. He hasn't moved this much in ages; his chest burns, and he can hear his breath echoing off the walls of the spiral staircase as he descends.</p><p class="p1">He motions to the guards and they let him pass.</p><p class="p1">Ozai is tucked into the shadows. He doesn't move when Zuko approaches the cell, his hands fumbling with the keys.</p><p class="p1">"Father," he says softly.</p><p class="p1">Ozai says nothing.</p><p class="p1">"<em>Father</em>." He's begging, really, but his throat closes up on the words he wants.</p><p class="p1">Ozai shifts into the gleam of the window, the contours of him shining like a promise.</p><p class="p1">"I'm afraid we're done, boy."</p><p class="p1">The moonlight catches the sneer of his teeth, the boredom in his eyes.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Of course when Sokka finds him Ozai is gone. The cell is vacant except for a clump of scarlet robes on the floor and the stink of blood.</p><p class="p1">There's Zuko, curled on the stone floor. Sokka touches his head. His hand comes away dark and wet.</p><p class="p1">“Fuck, fuck, <em>fuck</em>,” he whispers.</p><p class="p1">How does it work with head injuries? Does he need to wake Zuko up? Can he move him?</p><p class="p1">The guards are gone. They've gone after Ozai (maybe) or they were his confederates (very possibly). The best Sokka can do, under admittedly shitty circumstances, is get Zuko within earshot of help from someone who knows they're doing—enough, probably, to yell at Sokka for doing this wrong.</p><p class="p1">He eases Zuko up, one arm under the crook of his knees and the other hand keeping Zuko's head stable at his chest. He is weak enough that Sokka can feel him breathe but can't hear it. It's a sensation soft as a pulse.</p><p class="p1">Once he's sure that Zuko feels steady in his grip, he begins heading up the spiral stairs. It's the slowest climb of his life. He feels blood seeping into his shirt, warm and then horribly cold. </p><p class="p1">There isn't any way to avoid the palace physicians now, but there's a plausible narrative for anyone willing to be fed bullshit. He was visiting his father—such a dutiful son—when Ozai attacked him and escaped. Zuko's just the victim of love for his country, casualty of filial piety and nothing more. He's thin and scarred, but the most suspicious of his wounds have healed. No one will prod the scabs.</p><p class="p1">They can fool the world and Sokka will help them, but he won’t forget: When Suki told him that Zuko was missing, he knew exactly where he would be.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s concussed and vomiting for the first few days, too bleary for Sokka to make any real contribution apart from keeping his hair out of his face when he bends over the side of the bed. He rubs Zuko’s back, the way his mother used to when he was sick with the usual array of childhood illnesses, and although he doesn’t know that Zuko registers it, he hopes he does. He’s missed this, the feeling of Zuko under his hand.</p><p class="p1">The wound at the back of his head is bad and deep, sewn up by a palace physician whose hands seemed to shake more than Sokka would like, treasonously. They don’t think there’s any permanent damage but how would anyone know? He is so sick and small, all his movements jerky, and who could even speculate what was going through his head? Sokka thinks again about being sick as a child. This is like being sick, like having the flu but the flu is your mind attacking yourself.</p><p class="p1">Zuko cries because he’s hurt and too confused to know why he’s hurting so badly. Sokka carries him into the bath and tries not to think too much—about the way his white body shakes in the water, the bruises staring from his skin like recriminating eyes, the bandages wadded at the back of his head—which is to say that he can’t get the images out of his mind.</p><p class="p1">Suki visits but she seems to have trouble looking at Zuko. It’s the violence of the injury but also the knowledge that she’s failed him, as she knew she was going to from the first moment Sokka let her in the room. It’s dangerous to care about someone like this. She watches Sokka help him out of a shirt covered in sick and wonders if she can let herself do this again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">One morning Zuko wakes up with eyes that finally seem clear. When he understands that it's Sokka sitting beside the bed he whispers something so quietly that Sokka needs to lean in and ask him to repeat it.</p><p class="p1">“You're still mad at me.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not mad.” Sokka looks at him. “Can I…?” But he isn't sure what he's asking permission for, so he keeps holding Zuko's hand, or most of his hand. One of his fingers is a sharp purple, dislocated when Ozai threw him against the wall, or when he stepped on his son’s hands.</p><p class="p1">“You're upset.” </p><p class="p1">“I’m upset,” Sokka acknowledges, “but I'm not mad.” He squeezes Zuko's palm lightly. “Are you afraid of me?”</p><p class="p1">Zuko considers.</p><p class="p1">“I’m afraid of disappointing you.”</p><p class="p1">Sokka doesn’t know what to say. Zuko has disappointed him, terribly. But people disappoint people all the time.</p><p class="p1">He looks at Zuko and says nothing. His heart flares.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">When Suki comes her face is flat, and it's because she's in Professional Suki mode but it's also because he's betrayed her, badly.</p><p class="p1">They talk about regents and custom daggers that can be hidden inside boots and up sleeves and new protocols for admitting visitors and silent gestures for alerting the guards, and all of it is nonsense to Zuko. He watches Suki with a pained expression.</p><p class="p1">“The girls and I will have to assess the threat level. But insight from you on this will be crucial.” She pauses, eyes fixing on his face. “Do you think Ozai will be coming back for you specifically?”</p><p class="p1">“No,” Zuko says. “There's no reason to think—I mean, I wasn't anything to him. I was just the means to an end.”</p><p class="p1">He pauses to consider the truth of this. Suki is scribbling something down, her little notebook bobbing on her knee. Her face is impassive.</p><p class="p1">“Suki,” he says. “I’m so sorry. You were kind to me and I lied to you. I used you.”</p><p class="p1">“Don't make a habit of it,” she says flatly.</p><p class="p1">Her words sting but they have every right to. He wants to reach for her hand but it looks small and far away, doubled, and if she moves back when he tries to touch her he doesn’t know if he’ll survive it.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he says.</p><p class="p1">He doesn’t articulate what <em>this </em>means, and he doesn’t trust that he would know how to if he tried.</p><p class="p1">It means something like <em>I don’t want to keep breaking myself open to see if I can bleed.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He knows he can bleed now.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He does ask, in the end.</p><p class="p1">Zuko is trying to read policy documents, idiotically, boldly, because he can barely see. It's been two weeks since Ozai mauled him and Zuko is still so unsteady, wobbling as he sits up, wincing at the light. There's slur in his voice and a tremor in his hand Sokka hates to see, because he doesn't know if it will heal. The shaking feels like someone is tearing at his heart.</p><p class="p1">“Why did you…” Sokka starts, but he can’t finish it. “Do you know?”</p><p class="p1">Zuko is quiet for a while, leafing through the pages. He’s still sitting close to Sokka, but Sokka feels him retreat slightly somehow, making space between them without moving at all.</p><p class="p1">"I didn't have anyone," Zuko says finally. </p><p class="p1">Frustration and anger rise up before Sokka can help it, and the urge to protest. You could have told<em> me</em>, Sokka wants to say, but doesn't because he knows it isn't true.He was there but he was never really there.</p><p class="p1">"I can be better," he says instead.</p><p class="p1">Zuko doesn't say anything.</p><p class="p1">"I'll need your help, though," Sokka says. "You have to tell me what you need."</p><p class="p1">"But I don't know," Zuko says, sounding panicked and sad. "I just... I don't know anything, Sokka." He bends over, holding his head, scrunching his hair in his hands. "I feel... It's relentless."</p><p class="p1">"This is the time to do it," Sokka says. "Appoint a regent. Everyone in the country knows you were hurt in an attack. They know you need time to recover. They won't question it."</p><p class="p1">"I can't," Zuko says immediately. "They'll think the damage was serious."</p><p class="p1">"Wasn't it?"</p><p class="p1">Zuko is quiet, and Sokka thinks he knows what he’s thinking: It’s true but it isn’t honest. The damage was serious, but it wasn’t from this last assault. There have been years and years of this, sometimes subtle and sometimes, abruptly, explosive. This is not different violence. This is only the latest violence.</p><p class="p1">“Did anyone ever help you?” Sokka asks.</p><p class="p1">“My uncle. But I didn't let him.”</p><p class="p1">Sokka remembers this period, less than a year into Zuko’s reign. Iroh began dropping in with more frequency, manufacturing errands that took him to the capital. He said something Iroh-y about one of the great joys of retirement being the ability to move freely through the world, but he was old, creaky-jointed, and travel was clearly harder on him than he cared to admit. Then the visits dried up.</p><p class="p1">Sokka had known Iroh was lying. He hadn’t known why.</p><p class="p1">"I have to do this by myself."</p><p class="p1">"Literally no one does anything by themselves."</p><p class="p1">"<em>I</em> have to," Zuko insists softly. "I have to prove that—to show that—even if I'm damaged"—he chokes a little on the word—"I can still do this."</p><p class="p1">"Zuko." He has to pause to control a complicated feeling—angry with how stubborn Zuko is, proud that he’s still so willful and stubborn and <em>Zuko</em>—and the compulsion to argue with Zuko about whether he’s damaged, which seems important but unhelpful. “Would you let me help you? Not a regent. Just… me.”</p><p class="p1">Zuko doesn’t say anything, so Sokka goes on, with a little desperation.</p><p class="p1">“You can call me an aide or something. Whatever you want.”</p><p class="p1">He looks up at Sokka with a strange expression.</p><p class="p1">“What do you want to be?”</p><p class="p1">It’s like Sokka’s throat is blocked, with those shaky gold eyes trained on him.</p><p class="p1">"What do you want me to be?" Sokka asks.</p><p class="p1">Neither of them knows how to answer. Zuko goes back to squinting at his papers, hand shaking, breath shaking, the world on fire.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">In his dreams there’s terrible violence. Zuko wakes up cold and wet in an empty bed, a physician sleeping mildly in a chair at the far corner of the room, and tells himself he doesn’t want this anymore. Even if no one ever touches him again, he doesn’t want this anymore.</p><p class="p1">The windows are sealed up against the light, so he can’t see the gardens, the crooked stone path, the stairs. But you could close the curtains a thousand times and he’d still know what’s there.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s helping Zuko eat soup when it happens. Zuko’s still seeing double from the concussion, and the spoon keeps missing his mouth, but he has a serious expression, like he will keep at this soup thing until he gets it right. It would be comical but he’s <em>trying</em>, finally, and something breaks in Sokka. It’s safe to love him.</p><p class="p1">Maybe, possibly.</p><p class="p1">Sokka leans over and kisses him. It's a too-large kiss, missing half his mouth, lingering on his lower lip. When he pulls back Zuko looks dazed, his mouth wet and shining.</p><p class="p1">“Can I—?“ Sokka asks.</p><p class="p1">He bends down again and feels Zuko lean into him, inviting Sokka into his mouth, hand settling at the nape of Sokka's neck. He's so warm and soft inside, Sokka thinks stupidly, for someone who's all icy fingers and hard edgeson the outside.</p><p class="p1">Sokka crawls into bed with him, kisses creeping along his jaw until Zuko gasps. As Sokka nuzzles his collarbone his hands slip under Zuko’s shirt, filling the contours of Zuko's waist like he's trying to complete the puzzle of him, the wanting edges.</p><p class="p1">“Yes,” Zuko says. “You can. Please.”</p><p class="p1">The only palace physician left in the room is giving them considerable stink-eye on her way out the door.</p><p class="p1">Sokka kisses his wrist, feeling the tremor under his lips but also the way Zuko's pulse jumps to meet him. He's amazed again by his body: how beautiful it is, despite everything. The burns pebbling his scrawny arms, the messy gash healing on his shoulder where his skin ripped open as he skidded across the floor. It doesn’t matter, none of it; it’s an annotation on a book Sokka can still read perfectly.</p><p class="p1">He knows all the places not to touch, his hand skipping easily over the scars and broken skin. Zuko still tries not to put weight on his backside when he sits in bed, half twisted up, and Sokka doesn't touch him there. He kisses his ribs, avoiding his tender stomach but kissing every bone. He kisses his jutting hips. Zuko makes a soft pained noise.</p><p class="p1">“Is this okay?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes,” Zuko breathes. “Yes, I wish you could…”</p><p class="p1">He trails off, hand bringing Sokka's to his crotch before falling away like he’s been stung. </p><p class="p1">“I wish you could…” He fades away again, voice choked with want, and they both know what he means. Sokka wants inside him badly, urgently, but the damage is too terrible still.</p><p class="p1">“I want to be as close to you as possible,” Sokka says. “Whatever that means right now.”</p><p class="p1">He kisses Zuko's soft mouth, feeling Zuko’s moan in his throat. His heart is thundering under Sokka’s fingers, too sharply, like he’s afraid of wanting too much, and Sokka draws him in, just holding him steady.</p><p class="p1">"I've missed you," Sokka says, smoothing his back.“You know, you're very missable."</p><p class="p1">Zuko doesn't say anything. His face is smushed into Sokka's chest, breathing in his smell. From this angle you can't see the bald patch that starts above his ear, where they had to shave his hair back to make tidy stitches. There's a ragged trail curling into the center of his scalp. A path that ends in absence, an incomplete puzzle.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He doesn't leave again.</p>
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